Prom Night Mary
Tis said among amateur ghost hunters and professional parapsychologists alike that of all the civilized districts of October City, and that statement alone promptly eliminates the district of Cutter's End, the district of MoorePark is the most haunted area in all of the City. There are numerous reports in MoorePark of paranormal activity in homes new and old. Eyewitness accounts describe in great accuracy and detail of incidents ranging from the most mild of poltergeist activity to the sighting of full-fledged apparitions. In addition, MoorePark has a multitude of famous ghosts: A headless motorcyclist often seen on the Spanway Bridge in the south side of town. Charman, an immolating ghost frequently seen on Newhaven Avenue, where he runs screaming for approximately twelve yards before abruptly vanishing and leaving behind a scent of smoke and burned human flesh. But of all these phantasms and apparitions none are more prominent or recognized as Prom Night Mary, a woeful young spirit often encountered at or near the Wellmont Cemetery looking sad and awfully heartbroken. Often, Mary will accept rides from well-meaning individuals whom, stricken to the quick of their souls by her despairing expression. offer to give her a ride to wherever it is she needs to go. Invariably she gets into the car, thanks her rescuer in a small sad voice, and disappears from the vehicle moments before the destination is reached. The legend of Prom Night Mary is that sometime in the 1950s she was on her way to prom with her boyfriend Thomas when Thomas made the foolish choice to try and cut off a train at the local crossing and didn't make it. To lend credence to the legend of Prom Night Mary, those whom have investigated the legend have found that, indeed, a lovely 17 year old girl named Mary Watson and her boyfriend Thomas Carroll were killed at a train crossing the night of their prom, in June of 1952. Whether or not the legend of Prom Night Mary was on the mind of Philip Winningham as he was driving home after a long day and work and shorter evening of heavy drinking shall never be known. Be that as it may as Winningham was approaching Wellmont Cemetery he happened to spot a young and exceptionally attractive young black woman standing near the gates looking lost, confused, and rejected. Curious, he pulled over to the side of the road. He rolled down the passenger side window and leaned over to call out of it as the young woman turned her attention to him. "You need some help, young lady?" "I think so," came her reply, "I'm not quite sure where I am." "Wellmont Cemetery tight now. You look really out of it, are you okay? Is there somewhere I can take you?" "Maybe I should go to the hospital. I don't know how I got here. I don't remember. Can--can you take me?" the girl said. Smiling, Winningham opened the door for her. When she had gotten in and buckled up, he began driving. "I'm Phil," he said, his tone casual and conversational. "May I ask yours?" "Mary," she said. "It's nice to meet you, Mary. So what were you doing there by the graveyard? Where you visiting someone? Did you get into an accident?" The girl didn't respond. Winningham glanced over at her. "The hospitals just a few minutes away. We'll get you some help," he said, smiling. He turned the car off of the main crowded street and drove up a silent residential neighborhood. It wasn't as direct a line to the hospital as staying on Royal Avenue would have been, but he was sure the woman didn't know that. He had something special planned for this fine young lady. Oh yes, he did. She wasn't really his type, but Phil Winningham was never the sort of man to turn down an opportunity that presented itself. The woman turned in her seat to face him slightly. She wasn't smiling back. "What do you do, Phil?" Winningham felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He didn't like the way her tone had suddenly changed, going from soft to hard, cold. He glanced at her and saw the beetling intensity in her dark eyes and the way her lips were slightly pursed. "I work in a call center," he said. "It ain't anything glamorous. I get shrieked at by stupid people all day, that kind of thing. It pays the bills. Hey...are you okay?" "Could you pull over, please?" He did. He turned to her. "Listen, the hospital is..." "What do you with all those girls you pick up, Phil? There's seven of them now. None of them have come home, crying mothers with shattered hearts have no answers. They were just little girls, Phil. None of them deserved what you did to them," she said. Now? Now Phil was scared. "What is this?" He said. He started to ask more but stopped, frozen, when the woman slipped a 9mm from her coat pocket and leveled it at him. "H-hey. Hey." "This is the final ride, Phil. May you make better choices in your next life." She pulled the rigger. Romana slipped quietly from the car, half-lidding her eyes and reshaping reality to ensure that no trace of her would be found in or around the child killer's car. She sighed lightly, looking up and closing her eyes as she felt the first drops of yet another rain fall beginning. Then she began walking, taking her Iphone from her breast pocket. She stopped for a moment to dial, then resumed walking. "Jack. It's Ro. Hey, can you do me a huge favor and come pick me up? I need..." She stopped walking again and looked back at the car. Lights in the neighborhood were starting to come on, now. Invariably, someone had already called 911. "I need a ride," she finished.